Connected
by TheChurro
Summary: A string can tell me a lot. Pulled one way, I can feel the resistance; pushed the other, the give; strummed, the rhythm; plucked? the harmony; forced, the durability and listened to the melody, the passion, the drive. Too bad I'm just the player, no strings to call my own. For ilYamaTsuna7227li's Christmas Contest 2014


**Connected**

by _TheChurroExtrodinare_

Merry Christmas 8027 fans, a christmas challenge by Yatsu

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn! or any of its characters.

**Full Summary:** _A string can tell me a lot. Pulled one way, I can feel the resistance; pushed the other, the give; strummed, the rhythm; plucked? the harmony; forced, the durability and listened to the melody, the passion, the drive. Too bad I'm just the player, no strings to call my own._

**Edited by: **_ThatOneClementine _and _Hanji__**The**__LesbianFrenchGayGirl (RobinRedR _on AO3_)_

* * *

><p>Dad left because he was scared. At least that's what mom says. I would hang on the string tying them together. It couldn't break and I knew that, it happily held me above the ground. Finally came the day he looked at me hanging in the air and just broke down saying "I-I can't do this anymore" and he was gone. Mom cried and that's the first time I ever realized a sad song was just as beautiful as a happy one. I didn't pay as much attention to the strings back then aside from the heaven pouring from my parent's one, but I assume that's when ours broke. I mean dad's her soulmate, I can hear that as clear as day, and I'm her child – She has to love me. But I made him leave. She decided on feeling nothing towards me, leaving me connectionless. She had to put so much effort into working even though dad's checks home were suspiciously large: Now I rarely see her.<p>

She's afraid, you see, when I was finally able to talk, Mom asked me how I could float between her and "Papa". I said that their string was so strong that it could hold me up. She said "what string?" and that's the day I learned that no one else can see the strings. I figured they're like the red string of fate. I see them as white strings, and they only form when two people have a feelings about the other as individuals. That feeling can be anything, hate, friendship, love, ambivalence even. Each emotion, no each thread, has a different sound. Hate, in it's purest, sounds like screamo or metal. I don't like listening to those ones unless they are so pure it reaches a beauty. Seven. Friendship is so varied its amazing, from smooth jazz to pop to rock. Ambivalence takes up a remarkably bad tune, it's bland and easily missable. Every note tells me something about how the two interact. You probably noticed I skipped love, I'll come back to that.

The bond snaps only when there is no feeling on one side. Typically before that point is ever reached, or when the sound changes, the string becomes frayed and thin. The thicker and stronger the string, the more beautiful the sound and stronger the bond. It's strange to think about, but the stronger the string the more it gives and pulls in the right places. Every pair has a certain requirement for a relationship to gain character. When one person is loose in morals, the other pulls on the string to bring them back in. The strings play in harmony to each person's soul as they strengthen.

Soul-mate. I did say that earlier right? I've come to realize that people probably have hundreds of them, each helping in so many different ways. Soul-mate isn't just about lovers, but enemies, rivals, friends, anything. For now we'll focus on the love version as I should get to my "occupation" soon. Occasionally someone will just bump into another who fits them perfectly for whatever reason, but normally one has to work hard to establish a bond. With time, their souls slowly adapt to each other and create a harmony. My job is to help people with that step. Most have come to refer to me as a love consultant. Some are apt to call me a doctor, but I don't fake anything. I've found people who are soulmates. Four. And I've got people close to it, three fourths I would say, but I refuse to help past that. I will tell my "patients" who would be a possible candidate without explaining why. I want them to build their relationships themselves.

I started up this service after realizing that it was pointless for me to try to make real friends. Throughout elementary school I was clumsy and strange. I always swiped at the air and looked intensely happy: the others called me a freak. That reputation persisted as my clumsiness increased and my own lacking grades couldn't compare to the rising demand. By seventh grade I was friendless. The only way I could see out of the loneliness was helping people. It didn't work.

* * *

><p>The locker room was filled with chatter from sweaty boys after a hard day's work in practice, All of it centered around the dance that was announced earlier that day.<p>

"I don't get it!", said one smiling amber-eyed player exasperatedly, "What's so important about the dance. I get it, it's fun and all Christmasy but really. Why're you guys all so excited?"

The pitcher quickly explained, "Oh right, this is your first year here isn't it Yamamoto? You see, at the Christmas dance, we all bring a girl and at the very end they choose the best couple." Eyebrows raised suggestively as the pitcher said, "and then a kiss under the mistletoe."

"Ya, right. Best couple, ha. It's really who looks the best up there, that's why I'm picking up Tomiko-chan!" another chimed in.

"Haha, not if I get to her first." yet another joked.

"Eh, I'm sorry but that just doesn't sound right to me. I'll see if I can meet someone to actually go out on a date before hand. It's just not me to do the whole one date thing, but I probably won't have a date."

The pitcher was quick to correct Yamamoto in his thinking, "Umm, Yamamoto if you don't have a date then by tradition we have to put you on the sidelines for the next three games. Honestly kid we can't do that you're too important for the team."

The captain, Mochida, under a fit of desperation – this would ruin his image after all – said, "Ummm, you could always go to The Tuna. He can do it in two weeks or even a couple of hours. I've gone to him a bunch of times and he's really helpful..."

Laughter coursed through the half-dressed boys, some stunted some full out. Yamamoto was excluded from the laughing, only an eyebrow raised. "You go to the No Good Loser?" one boy finally choked out.

"Well, yeah. He's really good at relationship advice." Mochida looked down a little, causing Yamamoto's face to do backflips and eyes go wide. When Mochida finally turned his gaze back to Yamamoto he realized the first year sophomore had no idea who The Tuna was. "Sawada Tsunayoshi, love doctor." He said with all the sarcasm possible for someone who truly believed his words. "He gives out relationship advice and ideas for possible prospects. He's not in it for money and doesn't give very much real help but somehow solves all the problems in the world with one sentence and a number. And best yet, he's never turned someone down... Except Kyoko but only she knows why. Probably had a crush on her or something and would ruin his image if he said himself. Jealous lad, but then again anybody would have a crush on _her_."

Yamamoto responded with a grin, confidence, and a need to get this done, baseball was his life after all, "Okay, sounds good."

"Just be prepared for him to swipe at the air around you for awhile. It's weird and a strange feeling but hey, it works. Go tomorrow; his locker is 249."

* * *

><p>Chuckling at his situation and giving an occasional smile to passing admirers, Yamamoto hurried to the supposedly awkward kid's locker, hoping not to be late to practice. He had changed into his uniform during his free period at the end of the day as not to be late once he finished up with this. Yamamoto had gotten some more details about the kid before heading home the day before and was thoroughly disgruntled at how they treated him; even the ones who'd had his help before were terrible to him. They treated him like a pest and although Yamamoto figured they might have a reason to do so, it still seemed strange to him. He couldn't think about that now though; apparently this "Tuna" kid left school almost immediately after the day was over, so he had to hurry and catch him.<p>

Yamamoto was still slightly shocked at the severity of not having a date, but apparently it had started years ago: the captain at the time made a bet with his co-captain about how he could get a date to the dance and if he couldn't he would sit out a game. The bet ended up escalating and by the end everybody on the team was in on it, trying to get the best date and anybody without one had to sit out for three games. Yamamoto was slowly starting to realize what a powerful thing tradition really was at Namimori High.

When Yamamoto finally reached the lockers, they were near deserted. He looked around desperately, but saw no one who fit the physical description of the loser love doctor he was searching for.

"Maybe I'm too late," Yamamoto sighed. He took one final glance at the lockers before turning around to head off to baseball practice. Suddenly, he heard a loud crash.

"Oww!" Turning to face the sound, he noticed someone lying on the ground rubbing his spiky hair. Books were haphazardly strewn about the floor. Gentlemanly as ever, Yamamoto grabbed some of the books and helped the kid stuff them in his locker. It was rather void of personal effects and Yamamoto didn't know what to make of that. He'd never seen such a sterile locker.

Once that was taken care of and his classmate closed his locker, Yamamoto noticed the locker matched the number he was given. Just in case, Yamamoto made sure the teen in front of him matched the description he was givenl. Yamamoto was about to speak but Sawada started before him, "Thank you."

"Eh, it was no problem. No problem. You're Sawada Tsunayoshi, right?"

The kid weakly nodded, probably wondering what this tall dude wanted him for.

"So, um, my team said you could help me find a date for the Christmas dance?" Tension left the brown-haired teenager faster than a rubber band.

"Oh, sure." He said with a chuckle, quickly moving closer to Yamamoto. "Umm, actually, maybe not? Sorry, you haven't connected with anybody here." The statement left Yamamoto with chills for some reason. "It's against my policy to help anybody find love if they haven't already met someone with whom its possible, and you don't even seem to have a friend. The only cord I see is a strong," he tapped the air as if something tangible was there, "familial bond. Probably," the eccentric teen did it again, this time for longer, "paternal. You have to have friends and simply know people to find love." The kid looked up at him with a strange face of understanding. "Sorry." He turned and left.

For some reason each sentence left the baseball player more and more vulnerable to the hazel eyes. A sinking feeling rose in the tall boy, for a boy he was at the moment, a boy lost and confused as crowds of people moved to and fro around him. The smile dropped.

* * *

><p>Mochida was tapping his foot impatiently in the vacant locker room when the spiky haired teen arrived. "Yamamoto! Why did it take you so long?! I was expecting you at 3:30! If it was fifteen minutes after practice started I would've gotten it, but not a whole hour! They've been practicing their butts off and just now you slip in!"<p>

The man in question raised the edges of his mouth, "Sorry Mochida-senpai. I lost track of time after asking Sawada."

Mochida raised his eyebrows suggestively, "So, you got a date?"

"Uhh, no, he said he couldn't help me."

"WHAT! But that kid can find a relationship for anyone. Bet he didn't even have a reason either."

"Uhmm, senpai, no offence but he said he couldn't do it because I didn't know anybody to go out with…" Yamamoto's face took on a serious expression, "Senpai, we're friends of a sort right?"

"Yeah," the elder player responded slowly, "of course we are." He finished by brandishing a smile.

"Okay… good." Yamamoto's smile raised again, "Then, lets get this game done and maybe you could ask him to check again?"

"What did you think I was gonna do? Tomorrow, ask again; I'll make sure he gives you someone."

"Thanks!" The star ball player darted out of the room happily. Because if the captain wasn't his friend, then that meant the baseball team probably wasn't either. If that was the case, there was no hope for Yamamoto. He hadn't had time to meet anyone else.

* * *

><p>Soothing music replaced the sound of the ear shattering bell for Sawada Tsunayoshi. More lackadaisically, a paper bag containing the requirements for a balanced lunch found it's way out of the cavernously empty backpack resting next to the brunette. Brown eyes quickly closed soon after, relying on fumbling hands feeling up the desk for transport to the food's final destination. The complete entrancement in the music, however, more than made up for a hand coated with pudding however. Very few stayed after the bell as Tsuna did. Of those staying, most had reasons to talk to the teacher, two also stayed in order to enjoy the silence of a room over the noisy cafeteria and one was staying behind for relationship advice. She wisely chose not to interrupt the brunette from his current bliss.<p>

The rampaging baseball captain slamming open the door, however, was not quite so wise. He angrily pulled the boy to the door, dislodging his headphones at the same time, so that he could speak to him _privately_ in the hallway, away from teacher's eyes. "Okay kid," the black haired senior told the still dazzled student, "Hows about you just tell the kid Kyoko or some popular diva is his "_soul-mate"_ and get this over with! I need him to be on the team the whole year or we'll lose. I don't care about his stupid standards, who really cares over a Christmas party." He didn't hear the door slowly open behind him.

The highly pissed off 'kid' looked calmly into the captain's face and said, "No. Yamamoto, I'm assuming, asked me for a relationship and I will not give someone bad advice. It's bad service. He hasn't connected with anyone, so I cannot give him advice."

Mochida quickly raised his hand and bitch-slapped the kid into the wall. "You know I can hurt you more than that, just remember middle scho-"

"You're a bully; three."

Mochida only confusedly stared at the escaping legs Tsuna had his eyes trained on for a second before running after the anklet that was his girlfriend's.

Tsuna dusted himself off and went back inside, slipping on his headphones after a fufilling slap filled the air and continuing to fumble in the dark for his food.

* * *

><p>After the school prefect interrogated Yamamoto concerning the attack on a student and learned of Yamamoto's innocence in it, the hurried teen was finally permitted to leave. He was not going to be late again for practice. Halfway to the locker he almost the missed the distinctively spiky hair of Sawada head into the quickly approaching orchestra room. Taking a moment... or five, to prepare himself Yamamoto stood outside of the soundproof door. With a shaking breath the teen opened the door slowly and crept in.<p>

The only light in the room came from small windows at the top of the back wall, residing just above the edge of the rafters. Standing in the middle of the room, eyes shut with a serene smile, was Sawada. Music poured out of the violin in his hands in stuttering bouts. Only when Yamamoto was fully inside the room did the teenager seem to pick up the rhythm of the song. Yamamoto felt his body shake in response to every lilting note and smooth out as he calmly rode out the longer ones. A lump formed in Yamamoto's throat, but as the intensity of the music was cut by doubt, so too was that rising emotion. The door slammed shut as he left.

* * *

><p>"Gokudera, I will not take your jacket, you need to get home somehow too. Just because I left mine doesn't mean you should go home without one." Tsuna said with a sigh, and pre-emptively he yelled – hopefully for the last time on this matter – "No! I will not take it as payment. You know I don't charge."<p>

The silver haired delinquent sighed and left. Tsuna chuckled as he headed for home shivering in the heart of what probably would become a blizzard. Stupid snow. Deciding to ignore the powder quickly melting on his skin, Tsuna put on his headphones and cranked the volume high. An umbrella and warm body quickly entered his bubble however, so he took off his peace and looked up ready to tell a guilty Gokudera off and was surprised to see Yamamoto, smiling in a caring way.

"Yes?" the mysterious teen asked.

Tsuna rubbed the back of his head as he spoke, "Well, I thought I was going to see Gokudera and be forced to yell at him to stop with the unneeded kindness. But instead I find someone I turned away and got promptly beaten up for. So I must ask, are you to finish what your grunt of a captain started? Should I be running?" The wide-eyed expression Yamamoto wore told the freezing teen everything he needed to know. "Ah, I suppose he hadn't told you about that?"

"No" The other teen responded, face falling to a grimace.

"Well, now you do. So please excuse me; I must be heading home."

"Not without at least an umbrella in this snow."

"I'm not taking your umbrella." Tsuna put his foot down at that and stopped walking.

Yamamoto, stopping as well, simply replied, "Well then, looks like I'm walking you home." Sensing that Yamamoto would not let this go, Tsuna sighed and silently agreed, putting the headphones back on.

* * *

><p>Yamamoto never truly understood his reasoning to continue putting himself in the vulnerable position he found himself in next to Sawada, but he did time and again. In the raging snow storm he found a reason to do so again, this time with a smile. He had saved someone from being completely drenched in their walk home. It was then that he understood how much he lived for the simple things in life – a warm cup of hot chocolate, a fireplace while a fresh blanket of snow and a motherly smile just a room away…<p>

A motherly smile. Yamamoto felt a slight pull in his eyes, but chose to ignore it.

"So, Sawada, why don't you tell me about your life, your home," he said to diffuse the tension.

The child in question's voice was a drone in the warmth of the room as he spoke, "Dad left when I was about two, so Mom picked up the work. She gets checks every week from Dad that say "with love", but she still works long hours to keep us fed and clothed. Haven't seen dad in thirteen years, not since that day. Mom's dated a few people but they were just plugging the very few holes in her melody. I've lived in this house all my life and went to Namimori public schools. And I taught myself to play music. Anything I didn't cover?"

The unsettling feeling he usually got about the enigma before him came back again; he didn't understand how a child who seemed like a soldier who had given up on life could understand other people's relationships so well, how his music was full of feeling. Somehow knowing the question wouldn't come, Yamamoto joked, "Well, aren't you going to ask about me?"

The response was immediate, the brunette got out of his chair and walked over to the fireplace. He moved both of his arms and started to strum the air. His head moved to a silent song as he did so, absorbing something Yamamoto could not fathom. After four minutes he stopped and stared at Yamamoto, looking into his eyes. "You and your dad play a sad tune."

"You were born in Tokyo and seven years later moved to the red light district there. You lived a happy and eventful life, picking up baseball and basketball, quickly advancing in the two sports." Sawada's voice raised with an excitement Yamamoto identified as being overwhelmed by your surroundings. The boy continued with a swagger in his voice, "Your dad was so proud of you when you won game after game to the point where you continued playing basketball just to see that look in your dad's face. Your mom died a year ago, murder, shot in the heart after being..." the boy's voice trailed off sadness and longing ripe in the silence, as if guarding a secret about Yamamoto's own past. The black haired child speculated that he might be. "This sent both of you into a depression that you pulled your dad out of, hiding from him the fact that you were hurting the same way from him. You thought he needed it more, he thought you needed him happy. You quit basketball soon after to focus solely on baseball. Your dad didn't care as long as it made you happy, oblivious to the mounting stress." The narration was pulled tight, "The summer after her death, you two left for Namimori, leaving the house where all your bitterly sweet memories of her were: your dad did this for you, he could see through the facade at this point. Your dad wanted you to have a life so he tried to stop making all his praise be about sports, he began to support you even more in whatever endeavor you did. He wants you to bring friends home again; he loves you so much." All Yamamoto could hear was want, want for something more than tangible.

Sawada then smiled at Yamamoto with so much heat and passion that Yamamoto could tell didn't come from the boy himself, then excused himself. Yamamoto left soon after. The storm had cleared but everything outside was in disarray: plants had been torn from the ground by the wind; trees impaled by their own icicles; snow completely blown away from patches of ground only to bunker up in dunes feet away.

* * *

><p>Yamamoto crept back into the orchestra room the next day, hoping he could once again hear the sad tune he'd walked in on the day before. Everything the boy did intrigued the baseball player to no end. From the emotionless stares to the sudden bouts of passion, only ever given to other's problems. It seems like the guy gave up years ago to Yamamoto. He could imagine why given the way the baseball team treats him like a friendless reject. Maybe whoever Gokudera is, although he treated talking to him more like a transaction. That said, Yamamoto decided he would stalk the kid until they were friends. Starting with figuring out how he… did those things.<p>

Like seeing into your soul.

Deciding that time should not be wasted on pondering over his prey, the teen entered the room just as quietly as the last time. Sawada's arms were raised in preparation to play, but he didn't in recognition of the face he was sure becoming familiar with quickly. Yamamoto was nothing if not a persistent bastard. "I'm going to start stalking you now."

The teen sputtered like an idiot for a moment, before regaining his composure. He grimaced as he rubbed off his violin of spit. "Well, I suppose I should ask what for, shouldn't I?"

"Your friendship. You said I had to make friends so I will."

"Well then, I guess you're not going to be in the next three games then? Mochida won't be too happy you know?"

"Eh, screw the game." Sawada's eyes shot open, "You, are far more interesting. Now then, can you play me that sad tune you were talking about yesterday"

"You already heard it yesterday, so why not finish it now." The boy asked mainly to himself. He returned to his playing stance. He held up a finger as if listening to a beat and telling Yamamoto to wait. Somehow, there was a prompt, and the bow was dragged across the strings. Just with one bar, Yamamoto felt weak and it kept stretching out as if unwilling to let go of its truth. It finally ended, unleashing a series of short, sweet beats that calmed the baseball player down and reminded him of smiling faces. Confidence in the notes quickly built in a rush of fun, vibrant staccatos, showcasing amazing precision and skill. They ended abruptly, halfway through a measure with a slow note that sent chills down Yamamoto. He felt like crying. The rest of the song played out in melancholy fashion, farces of light heartedness shining through every one in a while. Rebuilding is what Yamamoto felt the song sounded like. It built back up in layers every time the song pretended to be light hearted. First cutting out the shorter melancholic notes until only the chilling bar remained buried beneath short staccato sections. By the end that low deathly sound had Yamamoto on his knees, his eyes already given in to their earlier desire. Yet somewhere there was hope. He already fixed the rest of the sadness, could he get passed this part too? Could he overcome its bruising force? He felt a hand quietly ruffle his hair. This time it wasn't he who let the door slam.

* * *

><p>When Tsuna saw a person capped with black loitering around his practice room, he expected his new stalker to be there, not Hibari the school prefect. "The baseball stalker is causing a ruckus. Get him to stop. Also, the delinquent stalker is barreling around school in search of you. Also a ruckus. Get him to stop or I will bite you to death."<p>

"O-okay. Will do Hibari-san." Tsuna said while bowing… and promptly ran for his life. Why oh why did he have to have the most annoying stalkers ever?! Deciding that both of them would probably appear at his locker, the brunette headed back, his heavy backpack not being the only thing dragging him down. He was getting tired of people trying to make friends with him for their own selves. Gokudera, Tsuna surmised, was feeling guilty from not paying back a debt. His family was full of bankers, and from the silver haired teen's behavior it seemed he also needed all his balances squared away. He once followed a freshman all the way to his house to return a pencil the kid let him borrow. Talk about dedication.

And then there was Yamamoto. The black haired teen took Tsuna's words to heart: make friends, get a date. Although from their last encounter maybe he wasn't in it for just for staying in the baseball team. But who knew? From the brunette's own 'stalking' it appeared that Yamamoto had only ever participated in baseball at Namimori High. When you dedicate your whole life to something, its hard to let go. So unless Yamamoto was just not dedicated to the sport, the short teenager would guess it was just his decision. Maybe he's just shy in reaching out for new friends.

Tsuna remembered the days when he tried to do that. Make friends. It always failed though. In first grade he was never picked to play kickball because he was so clumsy. In second grade he was covered with cooties from trying to befriend the girls, and was shunned by them for the same reason. Plus back then tea time was a horror story. When he realized even his mom hadn't connected with him Tsuna finally figured it out. He just couldn't form strings. Probably the only reason he could see the strands relating two people was because he couldn't have any himself. Life played a trick on him. So, Tsuna gave up the idea of someone taking interest in him as a person years ago. Yamamoto must have been a trick too.

As Tsuna's locker came into view, a silverette walked calmly down the mostly vacated hallway to greet his matchmaker. "Sawada-san." Gokudera said as he bowed.

The short teen sighed in response, "I told you to call me Tsuna. Anyway, Hibari told me you wanted to see me?"

"Really? Hibari? Since when did he do errands for people, eh it doesn't matter. The baseball freak has been stalking you. All day I've seen him asking around about what you do, where you go, if you're in any clubs, the standard date questions."

Tsuna's cheeks colored at the taller teen's word choice but his voice didn't waver very much when he said, "Interesting. Well, he did say he was going to start stalking me. At least I have a counter stalker. Honestly though, it's nothing big. I'll just see how it plays out from here."

"Seeing as your new stalker walked you home yesterday, may I today?"

"Ughhhh, I didn't even want him to walk me home yesterday, so no."

"You didn't did you? Then why did you let him?"

"He was going to follow me or stay behind freezing his ass off if I didn't let him. That would've just been mean."

"Well then, I guess I will have to be just as stubborn."

Sensing no chance of the other backing down, Tsuna sighed again, "FFFFINE."

Gokudera seemed far too happy at that prospect.

* * *

><p>Yamamoto, Tsuna decided, was a horrible stalker. He didn't show up at all for an entire week, ruining the teen's expectations. He had honestly gotten his hopes up on something interesting happening to him for once. A reprieve from the commonplace of work, dating advice and the occasional bout of bullying. Honestly, normal was fine, but a little zest in life always picked the connectionless boy up.<p>

But this was not a zest he was interested in: Mochida Kensuke. On Monday when Yamamoto had still not shown up to school, the baseball club captain started pestering Tsuna for his whereabouts. According to Mochida, in the days of practice leading up to his grand disappearance Tsuna was all the boy would talk about. Thursday was day seven of Yamamoto watch and the baseball captain was starting to piss Tsuna off. The shorter teen figured that Mochida was trying to get a rise out of Tsuna so that he could beat him up justly in the eyes of his peers. And Tsuna did not need to guess at his reasoning, Mochida blamed Tsuna for A) Yamamoto's disappearance and B) destroying his relationship.

"C'mon, are you pussy? Aren't you gonna fight me instead of going to ruin my chances everywhere in life?" The captain mocked Tsuna. When he failed to get a rise out the shorter teen he was finally fed up. Mochida swiftly launched a hand towards Tsuna only to have it grabbed by an angry Gokudera. However, it wasn't until his eyes landed on the prefect to Tsuna's right that he backed off. Something inside Tsuna tingled just a bit at the notion of maybe having real friends.

* * *

><p>Tsuna stood in his favorite spot in the school when he heard the door open. Turning his head slightly he saw the missing boy head straight towards him. Gentle hands took the violin out of his and gestured for the bow. Confused and more interested than ever Tsuna handed it over.<p>

Yamamoto's face took on a placid expression, like the surface of a lake. Gently lifting the bow, he let it slide along the strings. It was a low note, rich with nuance. It had Tsuna on his knees. The baseball player's face alighted with a calm smile as he played a short section of staccatos before calming back down. The tune slowly picked up like a storm, the violinist's face changing similarly. The crescendo broke down into slower, resigned pulls of the bow, and Tsuna was crying on his knees. The boy was amazed as cords exploded out of him, however, he could only focus on the thread connecting him to Takeshi. It was thin, and only holding them together tenuously as it flexed and hummed in harmony to the masterpiece being player for him.


End file.
